Stolen
by ShaedowCat
Summary: Chris is kidnapped from the Manor by Bianca's mom. He grows up as a streetkid with no clue as to his heritage. CHAPTER 4 UP...I'M BACK! Am still taking ideas...
1. Chris

Hi, it's ShaedowCat! I've got a new story here. It's called Stolen. Name may change at a l8r date, so don't keep searching for it if u like it.

I had a bit of writer's block while writing all That Matters, so I just banged out this. Will upd8 if ppl like it.

Ne suggestions on where 2 go from here are appreciated.

Luv ShaedowCat

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Rebecca walked down the sidewalk, the squirming toddler in her arms. She shifted him so he was sitting on her left hip, his little legs wrapped around her waist, & he stopped wriggling. His only movement was to tangle one tiny hand in her sweater.

She glanced at him, then looked away quickly as his bright hazelly eyes connected with hers.

"You're lucky, kid," she told him, turning the corner onto another street. She could hear in the distance the bells of the church, bells calling those poor sorry idiots to come and pray for a "Messiah" that would never come, and she followed the tolling of the bells.

Feeling a need to justify herself, even if it was to this little child, just barely two-years-old, she went on.

"I have a daughter your age, or close. I wouldn't kill her, so I won't kill you." And that was the truth of it. The heartless Assassin had found that she did, in fact, have a heart. She couldn't kill one titchy little kid because she happened to have two of her own. To kill him would be to drive an athame into her youngest daughter's heart, too, and that she would never - _could_ never - do.

She was walking. She could shimmer, but she wasn't going to. For one thing, it would make it harder for her employer to track her if she walked. For another, little children and babies didn't take well to shimmering unless they had been born to it, like her little Phoenixes. This poor kid had shivered for five minutes straight after one tiny shimmer to three blocks away from his house. She was surprised he hadn't gone straight into shock, but it seemed this tiny tot was made of stronger stuff than she thought.

__

But then, you would be, wouldn't you? She asked him silently as she walked. _The progeny of a Charmed One, you are. And an Elder_. She felt a tiny pressure on her left shoulder. She glanced to her left, and saw that the kid had laid his head on her shoulder. She swallowed hard and kept walking.

Fifteen minutes alter, she was standing outside the Church she scorned. Kneeling, she disentangled herself from the toddler's grip and set him on his slightly unsteady feet on the great stone steps. She straightened his clothes and brushed his longish dark brown hair out of his face.

"Okay," she said, preparing herself for what she was going to do. She glanced up at the reassuring forms of the gargoyles situated above the door. They would protect him, keep him safe. Their cries would stop any demon in their tracks that came after him, even her employer.

"You have to stay here, okay?" she told him. The toddler cocked his head slightly, his eyes questioning. She sighed. "Of course not," she muttered with a wry smile. "You're two, you're not gonna understand me." She sighed again and sat down on the steps. She couldn't bind him to the church, because even that would leave him open to attack, if he couldn't get away from something that _could_ enter the church, and some demons could, could stand a gargoyles cry, even if for a short time. She sat quiet for a while, pondering different strategies.

Meanwhile, the toddler was standing staring up at the gargoyles, his hazel eyes huge. After a few moments, though, he yawned hugely and walked fairly steadily over to the doors of the church. He curled up against the corner post of the door.

Rebecca felt the little boy leave her side and turned to stop him. Seeing and hearing his yawn, she smiled. She hadn't actually thought he would be tired, but he must be. It was eight o'clock, late for her oldest daughter, who was seven, and definitely late for this two-year-old. She got to her feet and walked over to him.

"You've just gone and made my life so much easier, you know that?" she asked him, a smile on her usually stern face. He looked up at her, a cute smile on his little lips. She laughed and stroked his hair, then stopped herself. She couldn't do this. If she was gonna do this, she might as well adopt him herself. And she couldn't do that, could she? She took a deep breath in, then frowned slightly as a thought struck her.

"How the hell are they gonna know your name, huh?" she asked him. He stared up at her quietly for a second, then babbled very seriously in baby-talk for a few moments. Most of what he said was nonsense, but his last word was - either by chance or his own intent - very clear.

"At-a-me." He said. Rebecca frowned.

"At-a-me…Athame…" She smiled slightly as the idea took shape. "Now that could work."

Pulling a neatly folded piece of paper out of her pocket, and a pen. She carefully printed the kid's name on the paper, then held it against the door with her left hand, conjured an athame into her right, and slammed the athame into the wood of the door. It sunk deep into the wood, and she loosened it a little, so it would be easier to pull out.

"There," she said, satisfied, "You're all set." She glanced at the toddler. In the short time it had taken to write his name and stick it to the wall, he had fallen asleep. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. She smiled slightly, then her smile faded as she saw goose-bumps rising on his small arms.

She glanced around for something to cover him with, then glanced down at herself.

Shrugging out of her husband's beaten black leather jacket, she tucked it gently around him. Still asleep, he snuggled into it, all but disappearing in the large leather folds.

Rebecca rocked back on her heels, watching him for a few moments. Then, with faint "good luck", she got to her feet, turned, and walked back down the large stone steps and down the street. She was gone, shimmered out, before the end of the street.

Behind her, at the Church, the toddler slept on. The piece of paper with his name on it stirred slightly in the breeze that whipped suddenly through the city of San Francisco. The athame held the paper tight to the door, however, even when many other heavier things were hurled away on the wind.

The next morning, when the priest opened the doors to the church, he found a husky two-year-old boy with dark brown hair and level hazelly-green eyes, sitting wrapped in a large black leather jacket. Sunk deep into the door of the church, above the little boy, was a…a…dagger, pinioning a piece of paper to the door.

The paper had a name on it.

The name was _Chris_.

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Well, I hope u like it! r&r plz.

No review limit on this 1, it's just 4 fun.

Luv ShaedowCat

Ps, Rebecca is Bianca's - and a new character called Catarin - mom.

Luv SC


	2. Liberty

Chapter 2

Hey, y'all!

Sorry I haven't upd8d in ages…(about 7 months)…but no1 gave me ideas except for melissa, which I had already thought of and am planning on doing in chapter 3 onwards…plus, I had skoolwork. And skoolwork. And still more skoolwork.

But, I got writer's block again 4 ATM and my english oral, so I did this chapter. Hope no1 is disappointed.

ShaedowCat

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X3 - thanx 4 the compliment

Darkness Amber - um…sorry, this isn't soon, but I needed another case of writer's block, bcoz no1 gave me ne ideas!

Jessie - thanx…but I don't have ne ideas! I don't know where I'm going with this! So, if u haven't given up bcoz it took so long 2 upd8, plz give me sum ideas!

rafiki - okay, I'm keeping going…sorta…

Good Witch - thanx 4 the review, yes I am upd8ing now, If u have ne ideas, plz tell me so I can write the story instead of relying on writer's block for my inspiration!

piper wyatt-halliwell 1973 - thanx

gimmeabreak - okay, will do

nighttime writer - here u go…hope u haven't given up on me…

kina24 - oh, shut up

purpleant - thanx! And as 4 why Rebecca kidnapped Chris…hmmm…wait and find out…

DarkGoddessRaven - that's okay, I got writer's block on All that matters again…but this chapter may be a bit crap, due to the fact that I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE!

faith j. - thanx! Here's the next chapter, hope ur not disappointed…

melissa - thank-you, thank-you, thank-you…ur pretty much the only person who gave me ne ideas…and what are you, psychic?

deranged black kitten of doom - gloomily hope I don't piss u off with this chapter…but I'm glad u liked the first chapter

Queen of the Elven City - thanx for the review, and sorry I didn't upd8 sooner

Stranded Stargazer - glad u like the assassin with feelings bit, I wasn't sure how that would go down, but I agree, it's nice to see a cold-hearted assassin with feelings occasionally

Good Witch - aargh! Leave me alone! Fine! (shoves chapter at Good Witch) here it is!

k.o.d (and kina24 again, the rude individual) - hi, yes, thanx, bye (to kina: I'll get you! It'll look like an accident!)

mugglewolf - nah, I'm just jokin', I don't believe in active powers like fireballs and crap, but those powers I listed r ones I'd like 2 have…newayz glad u like it

Good Witch – okay, okay! You asked for it, remember!

CharmedMilliE – okey-day, shall do, here you go!

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Author's Note: Actually, it's tooken me 7 bouts of writer's block to get this chapter done, so people…get your thinkin' caps on. This is your story as much as it is mine, I've told you!

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_2011_

Chris slipped silently out of his bed and began to quietly fill his school-bag with his things. Once his few meagre possessions were packed, he slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked to the dormitory door, avoiding squeaky floor-boards with the skill born of seven years of practice.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he pulled the handle of the door downwards, wincing as the old metal handle squealed in protest. He glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if any of his dorm-mates had heard the harsh metallic sound and woken up, but the other boys all slept on.

Sighing in relief, he gave the door a gentle shove, pushing it open just enough so he - and his backpack - could slip through, then slunk out into the corridor.

Chris trotted as silently as possible down the hallway, avoiding the creakier spots of the ancient wooden floor as he headed towards the Matron's office. He passed through the derelict building as quickly as possible, speeding past rotting floor-boards and crumbling walls, trying to minimise the amount of time he had to be there.

As he neared his destination, he slowed to a walk, stopping occasionally to check none of the other kids were around - either sneaking between dorms or in the more official role of Snitch - but he saw and heard nothing.

A few minutes later he was standing outside of the Matron's office, the one place no-one went of their own volition…except, tonight, him. Chris took a deep breath, glanced both ways down the corridor, then reached out and turned the door handle. It twisted silently, and he heard the faint _snick_ of the lock pulling back out of the port. He pushed it open, and it moved silently and smoothly inwards on well-oiled hinges. He snuck inside and closed the door behind him.

The inside of the office was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. Deep red velvet curtains covered the stained glass windows; a huge mahogany desk was the centre-piece; a deep leather armchair resided in the corner of the room, near the fireplace in which red-hot embers still glowed; satin cushions in a myriad of colours adorned the large white sofa that stood next to a large mahogany book-case and wardrobe.

Chris looked in distaste at the unchecked opulence, thinking of all the money that must've gone into this room, and how much could've gone into the rest of the orphanage. He shook his head, then headed over to the wardrobe. This wardrobe was where the Matron, a despicable woman in her fifties by the name of Begonia Pritchard, kept all of the things that came in with the children who came into the orphanage, and it was in here that Chris' true possessions were locked.

Settling himself down in front of the wardrobe, he pulled his back-pack off his shoulders and set it down on the plush carpet beside him. He studied the lock on the wardrobe carefully. It wasn't very sophisticated, just your normal, average tumbler lock…until you factored in the electric charge that passed through the lock, turning the average thief into a gibbering mess if they tried to use a metal lock-pick, and melting the plastic ones, and also the fact that the key hole itself was only a millimetre in width.

But Chris wasn't your average thief.

With a nod of quiet satisfaction, he pulled an ordinary – albeit antique – paper-clip out of his pocket.

The paper-clip was one of those paper-clips that has the coloured plastic coating over the top of the metal. Two-thirds of the plastic had been stripped away, exposing the metal beneath, and cutting down the paper-clips width by half.

Chris slid his make-shift lock-pick into the lock carefully, ensuring that he only had contact with semi-insulated plastic-coated part of the pick. A very faint hum filled the room as the pick slid home, and Chris felt the plastic - and the metal it encased - heat up beneath his fingers. Ignoring it, he began to work on the lock.

Half a minute later, the heat beneath his fingers was becoming an uncomfortable burning, and he was only halfway through. He closed his eyes. If he pulled the clip out now, the tumblers would fall back into their original positions and he'd have to start all over again. If he continued, there was an extremely good chance that the plastic would melt, his fingers would come into contact with the metal, and the electric current flowing through it would immobilise him.

_Screw it,_ he thought determinedly, and he continued to work. At five seconds, the heat coming through the plastic began to feel a little close for comfort. At ten seconds, Chris felt the plastic coating begin to bubble under his fingers. At fifteen seconds, the plastic was beginning to slip, and he saw with the edge of his vision a drop of melted plastic fall to the floor. At twenty seconds…

…Chris felt the tumblers begin to fall away, just as the plastic coating disintegrated. Bracing himself for a 1500 volt shock, he instead felt white-hot - but certainly not electrocuted - wire bite into his fingers…and the door clicked open.

Chris dropped the paperclip and rocked back, away from the door. He gave a low, wordless cry of pain and cradled his hand against his chest. His fingers felt like they were on fire, they hurt so much…he just wanted to have them stop hurting…he pressed his forehead against his knees and closed his eyes, concentrating on trying to beat the pain down.

A tear of pain streaked down his cheek, then fell down to his hand. Almost as if in answer, a small pale blue sphere of light emanated from the burns across his fingers. It was quickly followed by another, and then another…after a few seconds, a few dozen tiny lights were covering the searing marks on Chris' fingers. After a second, the lights turned from pale blue to palest gold, and a tiny golden glow spread over his fingers. It lingered for a few moments, then it and the tiny orbs dissipated.

Chris kept his eyes firmly shut. He didn't want to see his fingers…didn't want to see how badly they'd been damaged. His fingers were everything to him…they were his means of escaping this hell-hole…they were his life. Without them, he couldn't be a thief…he wouldn't be able to keep himself alive out on the streets. But he had to know…

Slowly, he straightened, and held his hands up in front of his face. He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes. And stared in shock.

There was nothing. No blemish, no scar, no rising blisters, and – he slowly began to notice – no pain. Nothing. A grin began to spread across Chris' thin face, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from yelling with joy. Then he frowned.

Burnt fingers didn't just heal themselves.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but he shrugged the feeling of something-not-quite-right off and turned back to the cupboard. He began to rummage around – methodically, and quietly – in the cupboard for his belongings.

"Chris '06, Chris '06, Chris '06…" he whispered to himself as he searched, then, "…ah, gotcha!" as he found the clear plastic bag with his name and the year he was bought in on it, as well as a list of the possessions he'd had on him when he'd arrived. There were only three things: a beaten-up leather jacket, which was normal enough, and a small velvet bag with a strange, three-pointed symbol on it, containing a crystal and a small amount of herbs, which was slightly less normal…but the last item was an ornately decorated dagger.

Definitely not normal for a two-year-old to have in his possession.

As Chris drew the items out, a whisp of something white caught his eye as it fell to the ground. He picked it up.

It was a piece of white paper. There was a large tear in the top of it, and across it, in big, black letters, was his name. _CHRIS_. Chris felt the familiar stirrings of rage…and confusion. His family had _abandoned_ him. He had had a home, and a family, and they'd given him a name, and then they'd abandoned him. Why? Why had they done it? Why…

Carefully, he folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. There would be plenty of time to ask questions later. But now, he had to get going, or he'd never get out.

Glancing nervously at the other door in the room, the door that led from the Matron's office to the Matron's quarters, Chris pushed the door to the closet closed. He slipped the dagger and the velvet bag into his back-pack, then neatly folded the jacket and slid that in, too. He slung the bag over his shoulder, then walked over to the door to the office and left the room.

He trotted down the hall towards the kitchen. The kitchen was the closest way to the outside, and also the best way to leave if you were to escape: the front door was a two minute walk away, and opened onto a busy main street. The kitchen door, on the other hand, opened onto a back alley, with half a dozen alleys leading off from it, and dozens of alleys leading off from _them_. The perfect place to get lost.

Chris opened the creaky door to the kitchen, slid inside, then walked over to the pantry. He grabbed some apples and shoved them in his back-pack, as well as two packets of biscuits, a block of chocolate, three bananas and the two small bottles of brandy and whiskey he'd seen the cook hide behind the potatoes. He also grabbed some carrots and put them in his bag too.

He grabbed another apple for eating on his way, then, leaving the pantry door ajar, he sauntered over to the door leading to Liberty. He opened the door, but paused, looking around, mentally saying good-bye to Hell.

A second later, there was no-one there.

Chris had gone.

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Well, there y'all go…hope this is good enough for all you out there…i tried… 'twas the best I could do… 

Hee hee.

Luv

ShaedowCat

ps AND FOR GODDESS' SAKE, GIVE ME SOME IDEAS:)

luv me aka SC

pps I'm not mad at yiz, I'm just _frustrated_!

Luv mSC


	3. Family

Hey ally-all. Just thought I'd better upd8 this ficcie, 4 2 reasons: a) I haven't upd8d in yonks; and b) Missy (my friend in Florida…Hi Missy!) makes her debut in my story in this chapter (and she'd kill me if I didn't put her in a fic soon…)!

Okay, now, 2 answer ur reviews…

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Simone1 – YAY! (does a happy dance) sum1 gave me an idea! I'm so happy! I like ur idea…it will _definitely_ come in2 it…hee hee I'm stoked! Glad u like it, and hope I don't disappoint!

me – glad u like it so far…(stresses) hope u like this chappie and I don't spoil it 4 u!

chattypandagurl – yeah, I thought about that 2…but if that happened, there'd b no story! In the Note to Readers section (just below here) I've given a little explanation as 2 how the Charmed Ones couldn't scry or summon Chris b4…hope it makes sense/sounds plausible!

SJSASA-16 – that's okay…I'm just really annoyed bcoz I didn't intend 2 like this story or get reviews…I just had writer's block 1 day! But now I like it, and other ppl like it, so I have 2 write it…(sighs)…but yeah, glad u like it!

melissa-p – _I'm_ freaking retarded! Dude, _ur_ freaking retarded! and u r a lazyass…lol…newayz, happy b'day…hope u like this chappie…u _and_ chris r in this 1!

Good Witch – thankin' u muchly (bows)…chris was about…um…hang on…(checks past chapter)…he was about seven in that chappie, so he's seventeen in this 1. seven may seem a bit young 2 b on the streets, but wen u think about it, it isn't really…  
so yeah, 10 years have passed since the last chappie, and fifteen years since chappie 1.

kina24 – thanx…but I don't kno whether 2 b insulted or not! Although, it's not really insultion if it's true, I spose…I'll t2ul8r, chicky…bye!

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Note(s) to Readers:

Because Rebecca was a Witch, she used a spell to hide Chris from his family's sight, both magickal and physical (so scrying wouldn't work, and if they saw him in the street, they wouldn't recognise him). However, certain spells wear off after a while…blocking spells being one of them, particularly if a strong magickal force tries to break through them one time too often…

Nioxphe is pronounced _Neeohfee_, with the _ee_ and _oh_ being short. Try saying it like _coffee_, but with a short _Nee_ instead of _c_ and an accent on the _fee_…there you go!

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newayz, happy reading...hope u all like it...(esp. missy...)

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2021

Chris Perry walked along the main road, his dark green eyes flicking unceasingly over the scene before him as he went. He blew out his breath in a slow, steady stream, watching as a puff of mist materialised in front of him. He saw a police cruiser turn into the street he was on, and he tensed slightly, relaxing as it drove past him without stopping and turned off onto the main road. He rolled his shoulders slightly beneath his leather jacket, trying to work out the tension.

_Nobody told me being a thief would be this stressful,_ he thought ironically, turning onto another road and heading towards the tall spire he could now see in the distance. _Constantly looking over my shoulder, always on the run, having to break out of damn prison cells…_

He dodged a street vendor selling pewter and silver trinkets, letting his left hand slide casually over the surface of the wooden cart and scoop up a handful of the shiny charms without breaking his stride. He buried his hands in his pockets, letting the stolen merchandise fall into the small tear in the jacket lining.

_I mean, it's not as if my life sucks enough,_ he thought, kicking lightly at the pavement as he walked. _What with the whole "I'm an orphan and I live on the streets" thing. But thanks to my chosen career path, I've got cops, social workers and god knows what else after my ass, all trying_ _to lock me up._ He dodged past a tall, greying, forty-something man in an Armani suit worth several hundred dollars, picking the man's pockets as he did so. He waited until he was a block away from the man before examining the contents.

_Three hundred dollars, six credit cards, three cash cards and a library card in the wallet…_he thought, flicking through the well-made, Italian leather wallet, _A check book…a set of car keys…ooh, Ferrari…and a pen. George. Who the hell is named 'George' any more, huh?_

He dropped the pen down a convenient storm-water drain – he couldn't fence anything with names, the cops would be all over it, even if it _was_ a pen – and pocketed the rest of the loot. The cash cards he could pass on to any number of people willing to take their chances and withdraw their rent from someone else's account, likewise with the credit cards and check book. The wallet and car keys he could fence for a couple of bucks…enough for him to live on for a couple of weeks, maybe.

Twenty minutes later, Chris stood outside the North San Francisco Catholic Church…the church where he had been left – _Abandoned,_ he thought – when he was two-years-old. His eyes flicked over the structure, taking it in. Before him were the large grey stone steps that connected the church to the street and the rest of San Francisco. At the top of the stairs were the large oak-and-iron doors that led into the church. He walked slowly, almost reluctantly, up the stairs.

He didn't know why, but every year since he had left the orphanage he had made the annual trek from his 'patch' on Perry Street to see the priest who lived here. It wasn't like he cared…he'd been abandoned, clear and simple. His own family hadn't wanted him, so they'd gotten rid of him. But still…he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, somehow, his family _hadn't_ abandoned him.

_Hell, maybe I was kidnapped by some hired gun and dumped here because the kidnapper couldn't kill me,_ he thought, then rolled his eyes at himself. The Matron had always said Chris had an overactive imagination, and sometimes Chris was inclined to agree with her.

As Chris got to the top of the stairs, one of the doors opened with a creak of unoiled hinges. An old man with tiny beetle-black eyes and light grey hair and beard peered out from behind the door.

"Come in, lad, you'll catch your death in the cold!" Father Hal Michaels called, a faint Scottish brogue evident in his speech. Chris shot him a wry grin and walked slowly over. Father Michaels glared at him. "Hurry up, hurry up…" As Chris passed over the threshold, the priest added, "You're late, you know…five minutes. Get held up?" Chris shrugged slightly.

"Got into some trouble with the cops…had to dodge my good ol' buddy Detective Morris today. Apparently he's looking for someone in connection with a string of robberies along Alexandra Street." He had named a road in a particularly wealthy area of San Francisco, about three miles north of Perry Street. He snorted. "Apparently someone matching my description was seen at the scene of no less than three of the marks. I suppose it's never occurred to the cops that there are quite a few thieves on the street that match my description."

He saw the look the priest sent him and held up his hands defensively. "It wasn't me, Father, swear. I was picking pockets on…" Father Michaels covered his ears with his hands.

"I don't want to hear it, Chris. Not only is this a house of the Lord…" He glanced up at the image of Jesus on the cross at the end of the church and crossed himself quickly, "…but if you 'good ol' buddy' Detective Morris turns up I won't have to lie to him." Chris shrugged slightly and headed for the priest's meagre living-quarters at the back of the church. Father Michaels sighed and followed him, preparing himself mentally for the barrage of questions Chris would level at him concerning his parentage.

_Fifteen minutes later… _

Chris arched an eyebrow at the Father. "So you don't know _anything_?" He asked him incredulously, his seemingly emotionless bright green eyes fixed on the priest. Hal sighed.

"How many times must I tell you, Chris? There were no kidnappings that I heard of in the news around the time you were taken…no 'Lost Child' posters were tacked up on lamp-posts…"

"Can you tell me _anything_ about my mom, or…or my dad?" Chris asked desperately, his eyes showing a flash of emotion for the first time since he had entered the church. Father Michaels shook his head regretfully.

"Chris, I've already told you, I never saw who left you here. I close up the church for the night, there's nothing out of the ordinary…next day, I open the doors, there's a two-year-old boy sitting on my doorstep, wrapped in a leather jacket, his name pinned on the door with a God-damned…" Here he crossed himself quickly, "…_dagger_! There was nothing else…no name in the jacket, no address, no telephone number…"

Chris vaulted to his feet in a boil of motion and began to pace. "So there was no-one in your congregation who'd had a two-year-old son who suddenly stopped coming to service?" he asked. Father Michaels sighed. He'd heard these questions before…every time Chris came here, he asked them, and every time he had to give the same answer.

"No, Chris. I'm sorry. Everyone who'd been in my congregation before you were left here continued to come after you were left here…no exceptions. And no, no new people joined for at least two years after you were left here," he added, pre-empting the question that Chris was about to ask. The young man closed his mouth with a muted click. Father Michaels watched him pace sympathetically. Chris tried to pretend it didn't matter to him, but the priest knew that it killed him not knowing who his family was, or why they'd left him at the church. He sighed.

"Come on," he said gently, standing up and heading for the kitchen. "I'll fix you some dinner and you can spend the night here." Cutting off Chris' protests with one up-raised hand, he continued. "At least you'll get a decent meal and a warm bed for once this year." He shot the younger man a stern look. "And that's that." Chris rolled his eyes, and the Father knew he'd won. He bustled into the kitchen and began preparing the meal. Chris stood on the far side of the room for a moment longer, still resisting, then he gave a long-suffering sigh.

"So, what's for dinner?" he asked, following the priest into the kitchen.

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Piper Halliwell sat on the sofa in the living room of the Manor, looking through an old photo album. In it was pictures of her children…nineteen-year-old Wyatt, thirteen-year-old Melinda…and Chris. Chris, who had never even made it past the age of two…who had been kidnapped and murdered by a Phoenix on his second birthday. _He'd be seventeen now,_ Piper thought sadly, looking through the pictures. There were many…her husband had been a trigger-happy camera maniac when their sons were little.

There were pictures of Chris with her, his dad, his two aunties, Paige and Phoebe, his uncles, Jason and Kyle…pictures of him with his grandfather, and with his brother. Despite the sibling rivalry that had plagued the first twelve months of Chris' life in the Halliwell household, Wyatt had eventually warmed to his younger brother, and had become extremely protective. He'd been devastated when Chris had been kidnapped, becoming withdrawn and moody. His temperament had lightened somewhat with the arrival of his younger sister, but he had never truly gotten over losing his younger brother.

Piper closed the photo album, then stood with a soft sigh and headed for the attic. As she moved through the house she noticed the unusual quiet. Both Melinda and Wyatt were at friend's places; Phoebe, Jason, and their children were in some far-off land like Zimbabwe; Paige (along with Kyle and their two kids) was at the Chinese branch of Magick School for a conference regarding the teaching of young part demons; and her husband, Leo, was out breaking in some new Whitelighter.

Piper hated the house being quiet. It reminded her too much of the days after Chris had been taken. After the initial rush of scrying and potion making and summoning and vanquishing any demon or Phoenix that remotely resembled the blonde-haired Phoenix who had stolen her son, everyone had been lost in their grief, and the usually bustling house had come to a standstill.

After a few minutes, Piper found herself in front of her family's Book of Shadows. The ancient tome was full of spells, potions, charms and rites…but none had found her baby. In those first few days after Chris had been taken, Piper had been assured that the magick contained within the Book would help bring her son back, and when all the hopes she had placed in the Book had been dashed, she had lost faith. Oh, she continued to fight the good fight, vanquishing demons to save Innocents, but her heart was no longer in it. If magick couldn't keep her family safe, couldn't return those she loved to her, then what good was it to her?

Piper leafed through the Book, smiling slightly at the colour-coded tags still adorning some of the pages, a reminder of when her younger sister Paige had first come into their lives. She skimmed the pages, remembering demons long-vanquished, Innocents saved, and magickal creatures encountered.

After almost half an hour, Piper's fingers stilled. Her dark brown eyes flicked slowly over the page she had stopped at, and unwittingly they filled with tears. She sniffed and swiped them away, then traced the title of the page with gentle fingers.

_To Summon a Lost Son_, the title read.

It was a spell she had written in her darkest hour…all other avenues had been exhausted. Scrying hadn't worked, her husband's sensing hadn't worked, no other summoning spells had worked…this was the last. And it hadn't even worked. But still…

Although Piper knew her son was dead, she couldn't quite believe it…after all, they never had found his body. For fourteen years she had wondered…was her baby boy – improbably, miraculously – still alive?

Slowly, her voice full of emotion, she recited the words she had written in a time of pure desperation, almost fifteen years ago…

"Blood to blood I summon thee,  
Blood to blood return to me  
Come back to me,  
Return to me,  
Lost child of the Halliwell line  
Restore to me my peace of mind."

* * *

Outside the Manor, the wind stirred. The pale silver wisps of magick – visible only to magickal eyes, and then only if they were extremely well trained – that were the essence of Piper's summoning spell twisted and turned through the air, speeding throught the city of San Francisco…searching for the one the spell had commanded…the Lost child of the Halliwell line…

Eventually, the spell found its target…but, for some reason, it was blocked. The magick was frustrated…it _wanted_ to complete its task! The silver wisps wrapped around the…barrier…it had encountered, and, like a boa constrictor, squeezed.

The fifteen-year-old magick that was a blocking spell flared into life, attacking the summoning spell…but its power was waning. It had resisted all other spells that it had come into contact with, and then had remained firm for another fifteen years after its casting…but this last, potent spell was too much. It struggled against the summoning spell for a few defiant moments, then it flared so brightly as to be a supernova – if someone with magickal sight had been around to see it – then fragmented and faded away…leaving its carrier exposed to the magickal community for the first time in fifteen years.

Smugly, the summoning spell settled itself into its target, snugging itself closer than the young mans bones, deeper than his soul…it sank itself into his very essence.

And waited for the right conditions to come along so it could guide him back to his family.

* * *

"I can't believe we took this stupid commission," Melissa Nioxphe grumbled, glancing at her older sister, Bianca. Bianca glared at her.

"This is not a stupid commission, Melissa"

Melissa rolled her eyes. "It _is_ stupid," she told her. She paused for a moment, then…"We're never gonna be able to get anywhere near the Book, y'know." Bianca sighed.

"Of course we'll be able to, Melissa, we're witches."

"So?" The younger girl fired back. "The Book can protect itself from bad witches."

"We're not bad witches," Bianca said, the phrase their mother had always said rolling off her tongue automatically. Melissa shot her a disbelieving look.

"What Universe are you _from_?" she asked, her tone incredulous. Bianca sighed again.

"Just because we hunt down witches for bounties doesn't mean…"

"…we're bad witches, I know, I know…so what are we then?" Melissa grinned at the annoyed look on Bianca's face. "Look, personally, sis, being bad I've got no issues with. Being good is so over-rated…bad is better. Wins hands down. I mean, seriously, if bad wasn't a good thing, why is there so much of it in the world? And why is the word used so often to describe good things? 'It's so good it's bad…' and all that jazz." Bianca shrugged slightly.

"I don't know, Melissa…but I do know that, if we don't collect this bounty, we don't get paid, and if we don't get paid, we don't eat this week, so I suggest you get your big green eyes and focus them on that house over there…see if you can't find us a way in."

Melissa sighed. "Let me guess…" she replied, looking out the window of the BMW they had stolen towards the old red Victorian manor, before glancing back at her sister, "…we're not gonna shimmer in?"

"Not if we can help it. They're witches, for god's sake, they're gonna have anti-shimmer spells on their house by now…or at the very least alarm spells."

Melissa winced.

"Ah, the good old alarm spells…I feel what little enthusiasm I have draining from me as we speak…" she muttered, looking back out the window. Bianca shot her a murderous look.

"One more word, Melissa…" she growled, her hands curling slowly into fists. Melissa let her lips curve into a small smile, then she held her hand out in front of her and concentrated. A silver and ebony handled athame formed in a shimmer of electric blue light. She turned with lightning speed, grabbed the older girl by the throat, and angled the athame towards her jugular.

"And what?" she purred, her dark eyes glinting dangerously. Bianca's eyes narrowed at her.

"Not bad," she said calmly. Melissa pulled back and settled into her seat, letting the athame unform as she did so.

"I know." She looked back at the house, and sighed. "Unless we slim-jimmy our way in through a window, I don't see how we're gonna get in without shimmering. We could pick the lock, of course, but, as you said, alarm spells…"

"I don't want to leave behind any evidence," Bianca told her, "not a hair, not a finger print, nothing. We can't leave any way for the Charmed Ones to track us."

"Or we're dead."

"As a door nail."

Melissa shot her a look. "What lovely imagery you use, sister dear…" She glanced back at the Manor once more, then shook her head. "I know you're not gonna want to hear this, but…"

Bianca sighed. "All right…shimmering it is. We'll have to do it later, though. Tonight. Midnight." Melissa snorted and rolled her eyes.

"How cliché," she murmured, examining her nails. Bianca shrugged and glanced over her shoulder down the street.

"I don't care if it's cliché or not, so long as we can get in and get what we're supposed to…" She glanced up the street again, narrowing her eyes slightly as something caught her attention, then turned and smirked at Melissa. "Let's vamonos."

A moment later, when the police patrol car pulled to a stop beside the stolen BMW, it was completely empty.

* * *

Well…that's that. Hope u all like…

Next Chapter: Chris meets a demon we all love to Fear…Melissa and Bianca attempt to collect their bounty…Piper finds out her spell may have, finally, worked…

Bid-a-bee-a-bee-a-bee, that's all, folks! (My impression of Porky Pig on a computer…oh, the shame…)

Luv Yiz All,

ShaedowCat


	4. Midnight

Hello, boyos and chicas…it is me! Long time no update!

Sorry it's taken me so long to update…I've had uni and writer's block to contend with, and to be honest I was thinking of scrapping this fic altogether. However, I recently took a look at my stats, and noticed that quite a lot of people have looked in on this stroy, and some people even have it as a favourite…and that gave the _Stolen_ part of my brain that was hibernating a swift kick in the backside and screamed in its ear "GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR, SOLDIER, BOO-YAH!" (My fic-related adrenaline-rush muse has taken on a Marine persona lately…)…

Therefore, I am updating. I hope you like this chapter!

-:-

**Im SiRiuSly ObSSeSeD** (now **Sammy girl at heart**) - glad u like u! yeah, the spell found Chris…it just had to duke it out with the blocking spell Rebecca put on him, then it everything was fine and dandy…

**Night-Owl123** - am updating! glad u like the story!

**Good Witch** - thank-you! i agree…Chris really is a natural!

**charmedtomeetyou** - am doing so…hope u like!

**battlestarcsi** - (blushes and bows) thanks!

**starra86** - thank-you so much!

**midnite-magic** - hm…ur very perceptive! yep, good ol' Barbs is gonna make a special guest appearance…(rubs hands gleefully) hee hee hee

**Tmir **- i'll let u in on a secret? (looks around guiltily) i was waiting 4 a bout of writer's block! that is how this story got started, after all…but I was also waiting for a break in my exams. anyway, this chappie is here now, i hope u enjoy it!

**winterwinds** - ur wish is my command! (puts arms together and blinks; chappie uploads) there u go!

**kina24** - quiet, you!

**Good Witch **- yes, i am updating right now! thank-you so much for keeping with this fic, even through the infrequent updates!

**Bravehart** - thank-you so much for your idea…it's gotten my little brain ticking over…it'll probably be used later in the fic! Thaks for reviewing!

**roswell lover11** - thanks, i'll try!

**Lils **- thanks, I will!

* * *

It was late when Chris left the church. It always was. Father Michaels always fussed over him, giving him a three-course meal before ushering him to the small bed in the storeroom off the kitchen. Chris ate the dinner without complaint, but he hated sleeping in an enclosed space. He would wait until after the priest fell asleep, then sneak out through one of the huge, stain-glassed windows. 

Chris hurried down the alley, anxious to make it to Perry Street. He was never usually this far away from his home patch, and being in unfamiliar territory always made him uneasy. Tonight, though…tonight…tonight was something else. He wasn't scared - he had _never_ been scared, as far as he could remember - but there was a sense of _wrongness_ about the world around him. It wasn't anything physical, like a scent or a sound, just the feeling that something was, irrevocably, _different_.

Chris didn't like _different_. It usually meant trouble.

Trouble for _him_.

Chris was so absorbed in his thoughts, so focussed on his internal dire predictions of woe - for himself - that he didn't see the figure standing in the middle of the alleyway until it was too late. As it was, he glanced up just in time to see a black-clothed form topped in grey hair blocking his path before he collided with it. The man - he assumed - staggered as he hit him, the momentum from Chris' movement carrying them both forward an extra couple of feet before they came to a halt.

The moment he regained his balance, he jumped backwards, putting distance between himself and the person he had collided with. He was a little surprised, and annoyed at himself…he should have had his mind on where he was going, not on his own doom-saying. As he berated himself, he eyed the man.

He was dressed all in black: black shoes, black trousers, black shirt, black cloak. He had grey hair, slightly wild, and pale skin, as if he had spent too long in the dark. His eyes, when he glanced up at Chris, were a shade brown so dark they were almost black…or maybe they were black, Chris realised, unable to see any colour in the man's eyes. _Soulless,_ he thought.

The man seemed just as startled as he was, then he arched an eyebrow. "Well, well, well, well, look who's out of doors after nightfall," he said, his lifeless eyes looking him over. Chris shrugged.

"Me," he replied shortly. "Obviously." The man smirked, and Chris fought to suppress a shudder. This guy was seriously creepy…

"Obviously…hm, direct. I like that." The man looked him over for a moment, as if looking for something, then gave a faint shrug. "Now, what is it that you fear?" he mused. Chris frowned: what the hell? What kind of game was this? And was the guy actually _sniffing_ the air? He decided that the best way to go was to play along with the guy's little game, and, after considering for a moment, decided to answer truthfully…for once.

"I fear nothing."

The man smiled, and Chris' instincts screamed at him to run, but he gritted his teeth and stood his ground. "Everyone fears _something_, boy…" the man murmured, passing his left hand near Chris' cheek, a confident expression on his face. He frowned. "Except you," he finished, looking puzzled. Chris arched an eyebrow, then sighed and dodged around the guy.

"Look," he said, turning around and walking backwards so he could keep an eye on the man, "it's been fun, but I've got to go. You know, stuff to steal, people to con, that sort of thing…"

"You're a thief?" the man asked, his dead eyes lighting up. Chris didn't answer, just concentrated on moving away from him. The man didn't seem offended.

"I have a proposition for you, my friend," he told him. As Chris continued to edge away, he added, "A _lucrative_ proposition."

Chris stopped. There it was…that damned word that got him every single time. _Lucrative_. Alternatively, the term could be _profitable_, _rewarding_ or _gainful_, but every time, the result was the same: Chris was hooked. He couldn't help it. Came from a life lived - for the majority - on the streets.

The man seemed to sense it, too. "I'd like you to…procure…something of great value for me. To…_liberate_ it from its present owners."

"And what do I get in return for, uh, _liberating_ this item from its present owners?" he asked. The man _tsk_ed him.

"Now now, young man, we can determine payment for this transaction once you have all the details," he replied airily, and Chris relaxed slightly…only slightly, though. "So…what do you say?" the man asked. Chris considered for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay, I'm in…for now."

The man chuckled. "Good enough, good enough. Now, if you'll just follow me…" He turned to go. "The name's…Barbas," he added. Chris frowned.

"'Barbas'?" he echoed. He shook his head. "Now George seems almost normal," he murmured under his breath as he followed the man - _Barbas_ - into the night.

-:-

Wyatt Matthew Halliwell woke up with a start. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments, trying to figure out the reason for his sudden awakening. Coming up with nothing in his mundane life - he'd finished his first Economics assignment for college that day, and he'd managed to retain his job at the bookstore at the Mall, despite his lateness that morning - he cast his senses outwards.

He felt a faint rush of power as his mind seemed to expand to spread out over the Manor. He could see everything…his sister, asleep in the room next door; his parents, in their room at the end of the hall; the study (_Oops, left the computer on,_ he thought guiltily); the kitchen; the sun room; the living room; the stairs; the attic…

_Nothing,_ he realised. _Nothing's wrong. Must've just been a bad dream…so why do I feel so jumpy?_ He cast his senses again, and again came up empty. He glanced at the clock on his wall: the luminous dial declared it to be 11.07 pm.

_Now I'm up, I might as well do something,_ he reasoned. He slid around until he was sitting on the side of the bed, then concentrated. He felt his body become light as air, and he saw the tiny blue and gold spheres gather around him, then there was a brief flash of light and he was sitting on the living room sofa, and his orbs were dissipating.

He held out his hand and the TV remote flew from its place on top of the set and landed in his palm. He was about to turn the TV on when the pile of books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table caught his eye, sending a chill through him. Without even looking, he knew exactly what they were, who had gotten them out, and why, and that knowledge broke his heart.

Slowly, he set down the remote and pulled on of the albums towards him and flipped it open. It contained pictures of his little brother, Chris. Wyatt swallowed hard. He knew it was stupid, to hold onto the memory of his brother, but he couldn't bring himself to let go. He still had memories - albeit extremely vague ones - of his own sibling rivalry with his little brother. He remembered orbing the younger Halliwell from the safety of Magic School and back to the Manor, so he could have his Aunt Paige's attention all to himself.

He knew he shouldn't feel guilty about that - he'd been two years old, for chrissakes! - but he did. He felt guilty for not cherishing every moment with Chris, for hating him for even a millisecond.

_Gods, I wish you were still here, Chris,_ he thought, staring at the pictures. _I wish you could find your way home._

-:-

Melissa sighed. "Now, when I imagined the day I turned seventeen, this is _exactly_ what I imagined. Sneaking through the home of one of the most powerful witches in the world, her Elder husband, and their Twice-blessed progeny, who are all more than capable of vanquishing us."

Bianca shot her a glare. "Shut up, Melissa," she growled softly. Melissa didn't take the hint.

"I mean, I get that the blocking potion should protect us from the son's - what's his name, Wyatt? - sensing power…by the way, I absolutely _love_ how you said _should_ and not _will without a doubt_. But seriously, once we try and take the Book, they're gonna know we're there."

"So we're gonna have to be very quick about this, aren't we?" Bianca replied from between gritted teeth. Melissa rolled her eyes. Bianca continued. "We'll break in, grab the Book, and shimmer out before they even know it's gone."

"That's assuming we can even get a hold on the Book to begin with," Melissa pointed out. "Like I said, it has a history of protecting itself against 'bad' witches…and B, whether you say it or not, we _are_ bad witches."

"It didn't protect itself against the Charmed Ones when they turned evil," Bianca responded.

"Yeah, but that was because they're Halliwells…it's their Book, bound to their family. We're not Halliwells, B. I mean…I hate to say, but I think we're screwed." Melissa watched her older sister closely, and Bianca tried to think of something to rebut her sister's argument…nothing was forthcoming, however.

"We'll just have to cross that birdge when we come to it," she said finally. She felt Melissa's eyes on her for a minute more, then the younger girl glanced away with a sigh.

"We're breaking in at midnight, yes?" she asked.

"Yeah," Bianca replied, glancing at her watch.

_Forty-seven minutes to go._

-:-

"You want me to do _what_?" Chris asked incredulously. Barbas arched an eyebrow at him.

"Surely this isn't too difficult for you?" he asked. Chris glared at him.

"Of course not. From what you've told me, it's actually fairly simple. It's just…a _book_? You want me to steal a _book_?"

Barbas arched an eyebrow at the young thief. "Yes. It's a very old, very valuable book, and I've been trying to get my hands on it for years…but the famly won't part with it for love nor money. Therefore, I am hiring you to steal it for me. Unless…" Here he eyed Chris like the young man was very, very low on the evolutionary ladder, "…you are unable to perform the task?"

Barbas and Chris stared at each other for a long minute; finally, Chris sighed.

"Okay, fine. I'll do it. So…when do you want this to go down?" he asked. Barbas' eyes gleamed.

"Midnight."

* * *

Phew. Another chapter done. I'm starting to get a vague idea where I'm going with this, but if anyone has any ideas, please tell me…I got a great idea from Bravehart, and it's going to be used in a couple of chapter's time (again, much thanks to Bravehart!). So if there's anything you want to see, people, please tell me, and I'll definitely try to work it in. 

Well, that's it for now. Thanks everyone! Please R&R…you know I love it!

luv ShaedowCat xox : )

p.s. eeeeep! Almost forgot...I'm starting a new thing. I'll write the first person to review a ficlet/drabble of their choice within the fandoms of Charmed, Supernatural, Blade, Dark Angel or - in Key of Darkness' case, since she's special! XD - Degrassi or Doctor Who. Just state what you'd prefer in your review.

luv SC xox: )

-:-


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